Father. Academic Advisor. Musician. Writer. My real name is Jesse Balogh.
Hurricane season commits treason to many things, including the roads, driving, almost not seeing the blockade, I stopped before my car, the price, it almost crashing-paid.
By Rowan Finley 11 months ago in Poets
Waking up in foreign lands, sands of crime sifting downstream, into my teeming, swimming mind. Sepia color serpentined, swerved and swirled,
Hiking earthen trails Gliding sides of heartbeat tracks Cool wind breathes so deep ~ Resting and watching Sunshine peeks on calm journals
Your armor still shines in the setting sun, your final battle has already been won. You’re ready for your next fight, and the end doesn’t appear to be in sight.
colors spin and grin feeling the cost of being lost unsure of the proper heart cure I hate my fate when I hurt people
Rise above the naysaying and negativity, on the wings that bring refreshment. Hold my hand, clasp my fingers tight, put the crowds jeers out of your sight.
When we were young, we explored the wonder of every rung, life had just breathed and begun. When we were young, we climbed the rotting ladder,
This is a collaborative story! If you have not read the first three parts, then please do so via the links below: Part 1, written by Rowan Finely:
By Rowan Finley 11 months ago in Chapters
Something pinched the pincher off, maybe another sea creature did it just to show off. Somewhere there is a one-pincher-armed-crab crawling sideways or swimming in circles missing his other pincher.
Why is love so wildly impractical? Why do we act all funny~freaky~fanatical? Why can’t I find joy in being a monk instead?
When it rains, it soars - my heart that is... above the clouds and lightning above the first force field of angels, steady,
Never too old when hearts beat together in treasure chests of gold Never too old when we follow what we’re being told from the good book
